BAMAKO by Aribert Raphael (smart books to read txt) đ
- Author: Aribert Raphael
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Samir had been staring at the ceiling for a while when he said, âI tell you, something is wrong. You can feel it, canât you?â
âYes, I feel very uneasy right now,â Johan replied. âI feel like the pawn in a childâs game. You know the way kids play? Throwing the ball from one to another and Iâm in the middle trying to catch it. I see the ball, I run from one player to the other, hoping to discover in advance where he intends to throw the ball next. But, each time he deceives me by throwing it in the opposite direction. Itâs hopeless.â Perhaps The Dutchmanâs age had something to do with his often rambling recollections of his youth.
âI havenât played that game or being the pawn as you call it,â Samir said, âbut I agree with you weâre being deceived. What we see and what we hear are not truths.â
âSo, what do we do?â They looked at each other.
âLetâs analyze the facts and see where they lead us,â Samir suggested.
âWell, we know Savoi and his niece are not hereâŠ.â
âNo. We do not know that, Johan. Weâve been told theyâre not here. Thatâs different.â
âYouâre right!â Johan lifted his head from the pillow. âWe havenât visited the camp or the mine to see for ourselves if theyâre here or not.â He turned on his side to face Samir on the other bed. âCome to think of it, do you remember how Rasheed reacted when he was told these two were gone?â
âHow could I forget? My elbow is still sore.â
âIâd say Rasheed is a good actor, but his reaction wasnât faked, it was too darn real.â
âAnd after dinner, when Rasheed said he didnât make the call, the old man became very uncommunicative, his face was troubled. As if he knew something and he couldnât bring himself to tell anybody.â
For a moment, they stared at one another.
âDo you realize what weâre saying?â Samir was sitting now, looking down at Johan who still lay on his bed.
âYes, I do. Weâre implying that Ashan, and the villagers are hiding Savoi and Rheza somewhere here on site. Thatâs incredibleââJohan chuckledââbut not as incredible as your story of them being taken to Kenieba.â
âYou think what ever you want, incredible or not, weâd agreed to look at the facts. And the facts tell us that Savoi and Madame McLean are still hereâin this compound. Ashan wouldnât do a thing like that unless heâd a lot to gain by doing it. He couldâve been bought or blackmailed. Thatâs probably why he was saying silent prayers at the end of the meeting, did you notice that? Only menaces would lead him on the path of dishonourable deeds.â
Instinctively, Samir wanted to protect the Elderâs good name. He only met him a few hours earlier but already a sense of respect for the manâs age and presence prevailed upon him.
âLetâs be practical, letâs make a plan of action for tomorrow morning.â
âTomorrow morning!â Disbelief was written across the Touaregâs face. âYou canât mean that. We need to act tonight. When morning will be upon us, it will be too late. If those two are still alive and hidden somewhere in the camp, weâve got to find them tonight,â he insisted. âOtherwise theyâll be dead by sunrise.â
Johan wasnât sure. Letâs say he was hoping the Touareg could be wrong. âYou really think so?â
âHow can you even doubt it? After all weâve heard; it stands to reason. There are too many people involved, implicated and afraid of the consequences to let them live through the night.â
âOh well, there goes another sleepless night.â Johan was obviously trying to ease the tension he could sense was growing between them. âDid you bring torches?â
âYes, I did. But before we go searching the grounds aimlessly, perhaps we should try to think of where would be the most likely place for them to hide two people.â
âThere are the huts, but we canât very well go and knock on everyoneâs door and ask to search the place, can we?â Johan chuckled again.
âDonât be so flippant about this, please. This isnât your childâs game.â
âLet me tell you something, Samir, I take this whole affair very seriously. I just wanted to make it easier for us to face what ever weâll have to do tonight.â
Samir ignored the comment and kept on foraging through his bag in search of the torches.
âPerhaps we should look in places where no one would dare go during the night. Or, better yet, we should âfollow the prospector to his claimâ.â
Samir was still crouched over his unpacked bag, sorting through his belongings. âWhat do you mean?â He lifted his head in Johanâs direction.
âIf what you say is true, our lascars are going to kill our two friends during the night. So, instead of looking at every possible hiding place, we should just wait for them to make a move and let them guide us to it.â
âExcellent, excellentâif weâre not too late.â Samir got up.
âYouâre a pessimist, you know that?â
The Touareg couldnât help but smile at the remark.
Having made up their minds and planned their sortie very carefully, Johan and Samir got dressed in dark clothing; their hands glovedâworking gloves that Johan always carried in his bagâand heads well covered, so theyâd be one with the shadows of darkness, and the mosquitoes wouldnât have a feast on any bare skin while they lay in wait for their prey.
They had chosen a spot from where they could observe any one going in any direction from the campsite. As they were about to doze off beneath a tree, hushed voices, whispers and footfalls approaching rapidly, startled them. Two people passed them only a few meters away. They were heading in the direction of the plant. They watched them until they were a fair distance ahead. Then, they started following the two figures, stealthily making their way up the hillside, their footing sure, noiseless and cautiousâlike felines. As they climbed toward the lane-way Samir had observed earlier that day while circling over the hills, the brush cover became sparser. They had to be careful not to be seen or heard. The moon was out, shining like a globe over their quest, which made the use of torches redundant. Johan soon realized where they were heading. He came closer to Samir and whispered in his ear, âTheyâre going to the nitro-cache.â
The Touareg turned with a jerk toward his companion, his face deeply stroked with the marks of fear. âWhat do you mean the ânitro-cacheâ?â
âYou know. Thatâs the container with the explosives.â
âThatâs what I thought you said.â
âIf they are keeping our friends there we canât use any fire power.â
âYou mean ... youâve brought a gun?â
âOf course!â
Samir swore under his breath. âThere was no needâŠâ
âSamirââ
âHush. Iâve brought what weâll need. It can be used in silence. Not like your gun.â The Touareg smiled.
âI shouldâve known. Youâve got a knife on you, havenât you?â
Samir didnât reply; he just lifted his pant-leg to reveal a shining blade fitted in a harness against his skin.
Johan grunted. âMy God! Who do you intend to gouge with this baby?â
âAnyone or anything the devil would put across my path.â
âWell, now that we know each otherâs weakness for a particular weaponâŠâ
âWeakness? I donât think you should call carrying a knife a âweaknessââŠâ
Their impromptu conversation was cut short by the sound of voices. They didnât understand what was said but they sensed the urgency in the words they heard.
The nitro-glycerine was stored in a shipping container, left as it stood at the end of the lane-way on the hillside. The nitro, Johan knew, was already âsweatingâ and the least disturbance would send the whole lot sky high. Both men wondered if they were to see morning alive. They had wanted to save Savoi and Rheza but they had no desire to die trying. They remained lying on the ground, their thoughts filled with horror, hanging every hope on every breath; every sound, every move seemed impossible, forbidden.
âDo you think we should try reaching our two would-be assassins before they get to the container?â Samir whispered.
âIf it isnât too late ... Iâm going ...â And, suddenly matching actions to words, Johan started running up, and then down the hill, yelling, dancing, singingâmaking an utter fool of himself.
Samir was stunned. For a moment, he couldnât understand what Johan was doing, or why he was doing it. Of course, he wants to get them to change direction, to pay attention to him, to have them chase him down the hill, away from the container. Much against the impulse to follow Johan in his tracks, he stayed hidden and immobile. He watched The Dutchman carrying on with his drunken dance, slowly going down toward safety. As expected, the two figures chased after him. When they were almost out of sight, Samir got up and very quickly, reached the container where he found what they had been seeking.
Both bodies lay side-by-side, seemingly asleep. They were tied up with leather straps and ropes hooked on the side-door of the container. Their faces were blistered with dark patches. Amid the shadows of night, they looked like discarded dummies from the last horror show. Quietly and gently, Samir took each of their wrists in turn, feeling for a pulse. They were still alive. He shook his head. Theyâve been drugged. He then pulled his knife out of its hiding place. The blade shone under the eerie rays of the moonlight slicing through bushes and trees across the lane. He went to Rheza first and slid the straps that tied her wrists above her head. He knelt beside her. He lowered her arms at her side and caressed her face. âHow could anyone hurt such a beautiful woman?â he muttered. Since there was no water anywhere near, Samir took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dirt off her cheeks and neck. Her red gown was torn and ripped at the side. Her left ankle was swollen out of proportion. Probably sprained or broken. Her gold-laced shawl was wrapped awkwardly around her shoulders and neck. Her hair was matted with red muddy patches. She looked as sheâd been beaten as well. When Samir carefully pulled the shawl away he saw the dried blood on her upper arms. Anger and sheer disgust crept up Samirâs spine until he shuddered, rose slowly and spat in the direction of Rhezaâs companion, Savoi.
Yes, that man who was ultimately responsible for his nieceâs torture was lying beside her, inert and injured. He deserved every bit of the beating he had suffered and all of the bruising Samir noticed on his face. This man, with a podgy face, moustache, thick lips and bulky, fatty stomach protruding from his body as he lay on his back, was a nauseating sight. The Touareg still had the knife in his hand. He was looking at Savoi. His feelings toward the repulsive figure were full of rage and revenge. He wanted to cut Savoiâs throat from one ear to the other.
He turned away
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